in our wake we leave crystals and flowers
by Enterpraise
Summary: "Now doesn't that make a sight?" Yavanna ventured, looking at her spouse from her place at the long table. She had witnessed the whole meeting and was quite pleased with herself and her husband. With a grin, Mahal tapped the table. "I can do nothing but agree with you, dearest. It seems that our skills as a team have not rusted or lessened over time." He took a sip of ale from his


Chilled air, biting and nipping the unconcealed skin; Thorin loved it. It was refreshing against her sweat heavy skin, that much was true, but the stagnant, earth-rich air felt more like home. Home being a single solitary peak, surrounded by dutiful but struggling worshippers, fields of barren rock, and dry soil moderate for harvesting.

Erebor.

Some donned her mountain —_her_, the goddess of war and thunder, Lady of the Mountains, as lonely. Thorin was seen as a goddess with a metaphorical mask of mithril, beautiful and ruthless, unrelenting and heartless, for her past deeds and reputation spoke of her austere frostiness and vindictive nature. Being a goddess and a formal Lady of the Mountains was no walk in the park, so her brother, Frerin, liked to point out because her brother had adopted their respective mother's ability to hen and worry over nothing. He claimed that she overworked herself and was too severe, but Frerin had never known responsibility as well as Thorin, so she minutely smiled and was on her way when the subject came up.

Thorin worked in the forges, day and night. She kept the furnaces billowing and forges flaming, fueling the energy flow of the earth and igniting the hearts of the mountains, letting loose the spirits of the caverns and earth. The spirits, with their translucent ribbons of energy, soft blue, as Thorin desired, pulsed with the fiery power of the thunderous booms that released every time Thorin landed, only to ascend once more.

They called her mountain lonely. And while it angered Thorin that the mortals would dare to slander her home, there was a stinging truth to their innocently hurtful words that made her still in shock of an unwelcome revelation.

Her mountain and skies comforted her. Her people, short they may be but resilient and sturdy as stone they lived in, kept her loved with praises and songs, with honorable giftings and prayers. Then there were the others, the worshippers who did not carry the spirit of her father: Mankind and the Children of Eru Ilúvater, who carried the starry aura of her least favorite god. Thorin would never instigate anything more than a spat with the hallowed father of the Elves, but he would always and forever more be an _associate_ in her books. Even more rare were the kindly children of the West, under the Sanction of Yavanna, whom Thorin was obligated to like and did not share any personal feelings with, and a couple of other minor goddesses and gods of Harvest, Fertility, and Earth.

There was a large distinction, to what Thorin prevailed over and what Yavanna's lackeys controlled. Thorin was an earth goddess, yes, it was one of her sanctions and titles bestowed upon her by her birth father, Thraín, a minor god of metallurgy, but she dealt with the rough, harsh terrain. It was the land cast aside because it sported no greenery and erected out of the earth in an unseemly manner. She was the Mountain Mother, the strong, unwavering hand of justice and safety.

Outside her immediate family, Thorin had no friends. In the myths and books about the gods and goddesses of Arda, Thorin was always listed as an exceeding beautiful goddess in the form of a dwarrowdam, Goddess of War and Thunder, Lady of the Mountains, icy and powerful, prideful and stubborn, lonely and reserved, isolated and without love. On most occasions, it appeared, Frerin was infuriatingly right.

"Foolish Frerin," Thorin muttered to her miniature hammer as she calmly and skillfully struck an unchiseled aquamarine. "Not occupied with his music and harmonies enough to cease his incessant nagging."

"Maybe it is because he _cares_, Lady Thorin." Her familiar, a formidable and daunting firedrake, Smaug, who, with his fearsome dragon flame, helped power the main forges. "Mahal knows there are few who do so as tenderly and deep as Frerin and I."

Looking up from her jewel cleansing, Thorin scowled. "Smaug, I know you are just waiting for me to fade so you can prop yourself up upon my hearty piles of gold." She tsked and silently swept an erring lock of long, ebony hair from her face. "Dragons and their insatiable lust for glittering gold."

"Ever the hypocrite, Lady Thorin." Smaug instantly replied, coiling up into a flawed ball with uneven edges as his spine stood out and tail stuck out obstinately. Blowing a small puff of blue flame into one of the forges, Smaug huffed quietly. "Let us go back to the War of the Vengeance of the Dwarves or the Arkenstone Wars. Unnecessary slaughter of both man and first-born—"

Thorin straightened abruptly, her circlet of sapphires, garnets, and gold falling out of place ever so slightly. "You forget your place, _azugel_."

"Over your precious Arkenstone—"

With a sharp rap of her silver and tourmaline knuckle-dusters against the slab of marble, Thorin stood tall, her size rising with her anger, until her grace pressed against the top of the mountain's interior, until the skies raged with tremendous bouts of thunder, until the earth, barren but tough, cracked and shook with fury alight.

"_Muzmel_," She roared, for her temper was short and wrathful without a calming aura to help soothe it. "I would banish you to the outer limits of this dimension again but I am afraid that you are much too crafty and have dug a tunnel back, have you not?" Thorin questioned, a part of her wordlessly mourning the melted jewel that she had been crafting on the table.

In reply to her threat, Thorin was granted an amused snort and a cloud of wispy black smoke in her face; Not that it bothered her, for Smaug snored and on most days Thorin would have to air the mountain out from the upper levels down for the smoke would muffle and condense everything in its wake. "I have known you as you have known I since you were naught but a thought in Lady Frís's mind, child. Your temper tantrums do not scare me, I am happy to admit. And I will not divulge you in answering such a question, for what is the purpose of a secret tunnel if not to be kept a secret?"

With a piercing glare that would have bested any other and burned the eyes out of an mortal, Thorin grimaced tightly and swiftly picked up the hammer and placed it in her inner robe's pocket with ease. "Good night, Smaug." She said in a detached, cold tone before spinning on her heel and striding up the wide stairway to her wing.

"Good night, _daruthînh_." Smaug twittered as he blew one last flame, this one white, into the forges, sparking a new fire amidst the coals, much stronger than the previous so as to last as long as Thorin's slumber.

"Ach," Thorin grumbled as she ran a hand across a smooth, gleaming banister. Turning to look back at her familiar, the goddess sucked in a breath, relishing in the relief that it brought. "May Lórien make your dreams peaceful, Smaug."

With a harrumph and a crack of his limbs, Smaug relaxed his muscles to fall into his own satisfying sleep and Thorin soundlessly made her way into her chambers. Surrounded by the glow of gems and minerals and the fabric of the universe — warm and homely, cold and distant — Thorin shuffled into her robes spun of moonlight, soft as silk and opulent as the finest gems, only to fall into a deep convalescence, rebuilding the sky and earth around her as she healed.

The Lonely Mountain glistened in the moonlight, and some might say the august mountain wept, for the crystals that were borne from the goddess Thorin shone bright and sorrowful as they cascaded down the mountain.

It was a silent night.

XXX

"_Mizimel, _it is time to awaken!" Smuag's grand voice boomed boisterously and the mountain shook with every excited step he took. Thorin knew the spell she cast upon Erebor would cloak the movements provoked by deities of the heavens but Smaug seemed to be in a mood. "You have been resting for fifty human years now—quite short if you ask me. The steps dwindled down until no noise came from the lower levels. Thorin herself slunk out of bed, well rested and ready for another millennia of keeping her Mountains and blood-lust in line. "The Summit of the Skies is today." Called Smaug and Thorin inwardly groaned.

"It is more of a gathering, dear _azugel_. And it is not even in the blasted skies." Thorin bellowed back, her own voice striking deep into the mountain's core and with a tender strum, the mountain purred in response. "Dís must be having a wondrous time, what with having to dress up those two miscreants."

"They are hardly miscreants anymore, Thorin." Smaug said softly and a bitter twinge struck Thorin unashamedly. She had not kept in touch with her family as much as she would have like to believe. "You get lost trying to take care of the doomed world around you, child. Your sister and brother are capable of taking care of themselves." Her familiar reminded her with a small tut in his tone.

Lacing up her midnight blue dress, in was weaved the first night skies and clouds of Arda, and fixing her train and veil of mithril, Thorin placed her white gold and onyx crown upon her head and ran a hand over the hardened, smooth skin — ruby — upon her forearm. Heavy as the crown was and fit for a king more so than a goddess, it would do. Thorin had no desire to impress any of the pestering gods and the feeling was more than likely reciprocated. Peering at her reflection in the pools of blessed water that was woven one of her walls, Thorin nodded once before quickly bolting downstairs in a bout of thunder.

When she arrived at the mouth of Erebor, earthly form slowly apparating into a solid skin, Thorin was not surprised to see Smaug laying near the front gates, his tail swishing and causing mild winds to wildly make the enormous banners of the House of Durin, one of Thorin's most favored dwarrows, and Mahal to sway and flutter sporadically.

"Let us make haste, my dear child. Family is awaiting."

Thorin's jaw clenched as the urge to roll her eyes grew too strong. "Yavanna will hem and haw over me until I purposefully begin a war between Men near the Shire just to aggravate her." The goddess stated, for goddesses do not complain. They only state facts. (Or so she told herself.)

With a disapproving rumble, Smaug heaved the two up into the sky as Thorin mounted the large expanse of his back. "Mahal will make sure your duties are doubled if you do that, Lady Thorin. He gets the brunt of it, what with Yavanna being his wife and all."

Thorin did not offer him a reply and set to focusing on the magnificent ocean that rippled with every breeze and migration of clouds, that festered and fought with every storm. The sky was not _her_ domain, but she was apart of it. Thorin was thunder, for war was loud, varying in length, and possibly destructive but always terrifying. Her beloved sister, Dís, was lightening, for she was also wisdom and wisdom is electrifying, sharp, and dangerous. Manwë was in charge of the clouds, for the king is always present even if he cannot be seen, and Varda was in charge of the stars, for she was the Kindler and the light of the king's eye.

"Let loose your roar, _Mizimel. _Let the skies quake." Smaug whispered, his voice a deep note of home and hearth.

With a giant leap, Thorin took to the skies. Her dress spun into clouds, her train and veil reverberated rumblings turned into a deafening boom. Vociferous in energy and passionate in fervor, Thorin soared alongside Smaug, his own penetrating roars harmonizing with Thorin's. It wasn't long before Ulmo joined into the fray, his call casting a heavy rain alongside Thorin's thunder; Manwë darkened the skies as his spirit became more prevalent in the physical world; and finally, a bolt of lightening, strong and pure, struck near Thorin. It's energy caressing the goddess with adoration, annoyance, and no small amount of sisterly love.

The skies were complete and the earth below hummed with relief and satisfaction as its thirst was quenched and plants fed.

"Onwards to the summit, Smuag!" Thorin yelled, her voice forming more bouts of sonorous sounds. "Onwards through this wonderful storm!"

It was the feeling of euphoria, the literal 'on top of the world'. She, as an isolated goddess, did not get out much. Only in times of war and strife did Thorin truly make an appearance, disguised or not. So flying free through the skies was a joyous and much too rare occasion for Thorin to stumble across. The Summit of the Skies only occurred once every blue moon, or possibly every five thousands years that the non-present Valar decide to travel their lazy arses from Valinor to the midpoint between the spiritual and the physical realm, so such a flight like the one Thorin had just experienced was a gift from the gods.

Perhaps it was because her hard work was finally recognized and she was not seen as just a warmonger and bloodthirsty goddess. Or perhaps Manwë had grown tired of Smaug's endless prances across the countryside due to boredom or his own humongous clouds of charred black smoke that tarnished Manwë's own solid white. Thorin knew it was not because of anything she had done. For the last two hundred years she had been relatively passive in her aggression and short in her walks through Arda. It had to have been because of Smaug, the old bugger.

"I am descending, my lady. Let us descend together." He offered, his voice rising as he readied for the long road down.

Quickly, Thorin reverted back into her physical body: fully dwarrowdam and not a lick of elvish genes to be found. Fixating her dress as it crumpled between her legs uncomfortably, Thorin smoothed the dwarvish fabric out with a gentle hand. It was dependable and sturdy fabric, one she could rely on. The dress itself was breathtaking, but not one of Thorin's favorites. The goddess busied herself as Smaug rapidly and fastidiously made his way down into the realm created by Manwë and Varda for the Summit. The air that flowed speedily through her hair dried her soaked body so Thorin cast the doubt that she would show up looking like a sodden kitten long ago.

In all honesty, Thorin was excited. Not excited for having to socialize, but excited to see her family, her Maker and Holy Father. She had not seen her two young nephews, Fíli and Kíli for over a thousand years. She had written them, Thorin was capable of that much, but she fell utterly short when it came to traveling to Dís's stronghold, Ered Luin, for a true reunion.

Even a god has no time for periods of travel and relaxation.

The goddess's excitement only enlarged and sparked as Smaug and she entered the realm with growling chant of ancient Khuzdul. From the healing skies to a vast plentiful field with painted flowers bright with life, flowing grass like a calm sea that undulated with every breeze, Thorin gazed. There was a beach, off to the distance, and a mighty mountain that Thorin herself stopped and gave an approving eye to.

Around her, the earth strummed with bliss for her makers were home, their blessings bestowed upon the earth with every breath they took. The maiden spirit of the Earth loved Yavanna especially, as the goddess reigned over the earth with an unshakable hand and motherly concern.

"Ah, my dearest soul daughter!"

Immediately, almost in sync as Thorin's steel-capped toes touched the welcoming rock, came the sweet, melodic voice of her Father's wife. Thorin did not cringe nor did she cluck her tongue. Her stern nature would never allow such a blatant show of emotion in front of one whom was not her blood family or bond mate.

Resisting the urge to bury her face in Smaug's burning blood scales, Thorin turned, slowly and with no small amount of pomp. "Lady Yavanna," She greeted the goddess of Earth and Giver of Fruits with a cold demeanor, steely and rigid as the mountains of the north themselves.

Yavanna took the form of one of the _melekûnh_, the kindly children of the West: Hobbits, most often. It disconcerted and gave Thorin a feeling of higher authority when her Father's wife strutted around in her colorful robes, four feet and five inches tall.

"Oh Lady Thorin, let us walk together to the convocation." Yavanna strode up to her in measures, short, short, then long, like a smooth rhythm, never-ending. Thorin watched as her long golden spun hair touched the ground when she tilted her head to the side. "May I have your arm?"

Besides her, Smaug coughed, the trees in the distance shaking from the strength. "My Lady Thorin, I shall be here, in this field of golden grass, when you return from the _gathering_." Thorin heard the slimy smirk weaving its obnoxious way onto the drake's features and swore her revenge then and there.

"Yes, you have fun. There is much to be done in the mountain when we get back." Thorin stiffly held out an arm, her own height, five feet and three inches, towering over the hobbit goddess and forcing her to lean down ever so slightly; bearing unbroken and powerful, but dignity a little more than bruised.

Pleased with herself and satisfied at Smaug's displeased silence, Thorin gave a small nod to the goddess next to her, signaling that the pair was fit to begin walking. Arm and arm, the two goddesses moved like mellifluous wind, silvery and refined, flawless flowers flowing with the spirits, harmonizing with the music of Arda.

Not much time passed before a large pavilion appeared in sight. Marble columns with vines wrapped in a tight embrace across the rich stone and a roof of pure diamond. Thorin barely held back the scornful laugh that almost slithered its way out. It was no secret, the Valar loving anything that shines, but to have a diamond roof was a bit on the ostentatious side.

"It was Lord Manwë and my Lord Aulë's idea." Yavanna piped in from Thorin's side. "Quite the surprise, no?" She asked the War goddess playfully, hoping to elicit some semblance of emotion for if a mere child of Eru could do it, an Elven king nonetheless, then so could she.

Yavanna received an aloof nod in reply. "My Father has always loved the precious gifts from the earth," Thorin replied bluntly. "And there is nothing wrong with letting such a passionate love show."

Thorin felt the goddess shift, whether it was out of frustration or being uncomfortable, Thorin did not know. She presumed it was not the latter, for Yavanna was a Vala and the Valar were not easily threatened.

"On the subject of fathers, how is your blood father?' Yavanna poked, the two crossing a bridge of oaken wood that Thorin thought with narrowed eyes was Yavanna's idea of a kind gesture.

"Thraín is thriving." Thorin informed with a spark of pride. Her father had never been the same after the series of Dwarvish wars versus Melkor and Sauron. Azanulbizar perhaps, was the worst, but now was not the time to think of such morbid memories. "My people are true to their title and continue to mine and meld the earth into art.

Yavanna bore a face of contemplation, neutrally so, and Thorin, having been the receiver of a seemingly benign and thoughtful look before, knew better than to assume that any news of her Father's children brought the goddess any joy.

"That is swell news." Lady Yavanna said in return, her face scrunched and eyes a more prominent violet than before. "May my husband's and your people continue to work the earth as they have for thousands of years."

Looking at the Vala from the side, Thorin gave Yavanna a severely skeptical look. "The earth works and flourishes in many ways, Lady Yavanna. She was created to be handled by a whole world of hands and tools, for the earth herself is as diverse as Arda's citizens."

"You always were one of my husband's favorites, did you know?" She asked Thorin with a wily smile tugging on her lips. "As is your darling Dís, but please refrain from saying that I refer to her as that for I do not want to be subject to her anger." The goddess added quickly and charmingly.

Thorin frowned. "I would never." She said soberly as her walking came to a halt.

The two goddesses had stopped right before the entrance to the pavilion. Thorin quickly scanned for her family but silently despaired when she realized that perhaps she had arrived a little too early than was deemed necessary.

'_Or maybe it is because Fíli and Kíli are always make poor Dís run late.'_ Thorin thought placidly.

The main Vala had already appeared to have arrived and quickly, with no fanfare, Thorin ducked out of the pavilion, sidestepping Nienna who often faced Thorin's sneers for her ceaseless crying and Ulmo who seemed to be in a chatting mood — which Thorin was definitely _not_. The War and Thunder goddess marched evenly and briskly to the southern fields of the makeshift realm, towards the ocean. Not often did Thorin get to see such sparkling blue-green beauty, like sheets of aquamarines, emeralds, and sapphires whirling and folding into each other, constantly and stunningly.

As she traveled to the beach side, Thorin lifted her veil and cast it over her coal black hair that reached her upper thigh. She lifted her train with small sound waves that powered the fabric upwards into the breeze and slid off her hefty Dwarven boots, eager to feel the sand envelope the tiny hairless feet of a dwarrowdam.

Walking alongside the coastline proved to be a relaxing affair, calming and serene. The waves lapped and smacked her feet as Thorin waded closer and closer to the water. She had inched nearer until just her feet got wet and her dress, hiked up and out of harms way, still remained dry and fit for a ludicrous council.

Lost in thought, Thorin did not register the hours inching closer to the appointed start time of the gathering nor did she realize that she was not alone on the beach. Musical laughter, euphonious as the clanking of hammer against anvil, singed her out of her daydreams and forced her to examine her surroundings until she pinpointed the source of the disruption. Speedily, Thorin saw the woman not but forty feet away and set out to turn back but something stopped her in her tracks. She didn't know what, for it felt more instinctual than anything, but whatever it was, it was not wholly unwelcome.

The lone woman inched closer to the goddess and Thorin watched, entranced, as the pale green dress, a spring's meadow in the light of dawn, fluttered softly with the ocean's breeze.

"Hello." Yavanna's child greeted, for the goddess or spirit in front of her was none other than a Hobbit. Smaller in height than Yavanna she was, but while the Earth Queen had bright gold hair, her child had hair of amber.

Thorin paused in her tracks, loosening the tight grip on her heavy dress ever so slightly. From afar, she could hear Yavanna's tinkling laughter and Mahal's deep rumbling.

"Greetings," She replied gruffly, her hair whipping the side of her face as the breeze turned to strong wind. "Thorin, daughter of Frís, daughter of Aís, at your service." And she bowed with well manners, careful of her hair sweeping the sand below. Honestly, she ought to have brought the clasp that Thraín made her.

"Bilbo Baggins, daughter of Belladonna, at your service." Returned the woman — Bilbo — as she stepped to the side, making room for Thorin to pass politely without question.

Thorin did not move. Instead, she sharply turned around and turned her head back to the Hobbit lass behind her. Silently, she gave a curt nod to her head and as she intended, the lass herself stepped up next to Thorin and offered her own arm. Reluctantly, because she was quite fed up with having to make up for the fact she was the tallest dwarrowdam in the Vala and quite possibly the physical realm, Thorin took the offer with a dark scowl.

The two walked gently along the shore, and Thorin ignored the queer feelings kindling in her core. She did not want to seem aggressive and off-standish, but regardless of her attempts at kindness, she knew that it was generally the first impression that the majority received. Somehow, she felt the need to be a better version of her true self, a more attractive and amplified goddess instead of her solemn and grim personality around the hobbit lass. To say such feelings were strange and not entirely understood would be an understatement, and Thorin was having a bit of a struggle trying to decipher what her heart and body were trying to communicate to her stubborn and proud mind.

"I have heard of you before, Lady Thorin." Bilbo began, her voice soft and hesitant, as if she was either intimidated or afraid to start a conversation. "Goddess of Thunder and War, Lady of the Mountains and Caverns." She recited mechanically, from endless etiquette lessons no doubt, peering up at the tall dwarven goddess next to her. "Quite the title." She ended unsurely, and Thorin caught the scared glint in her eyes.

She did not recoil but Thorin did deepen her frown. The goddess knew that many of her past actions were considered brutal and greedy as Thorin had begun and ended countless wars, had killed more persons that she could ever hope to count, and reeked havoc upon Arda in her anger. But she had accumulated enough glory and victories to be seen as a hero, despite her flaws, and she was determined to wipe the nervous look off of Bilbo's face. Such a look made her feel as if she was the worst goddess to set foot in the realms.

"A title I have equally earned and disgraced on many occasions." She conceded tersely, her lips pursed and her stance serious. "May I ask yours, Lady Baggins?" She delved, hoping to receive an answer of truth and truth only.

To her surprise, Bilbo looked genuinely pleased and no small amount of relived. "I am the Goddess of the Fields and Flowers." She indulged, a bashful smile dancing upon her lips. "Yavanna is the head chieftess, for she is the Queen of the Earth, but we, my few brothers and sisters, were created to oversee the many regions of the earth and ensure their prosperity." Bilbo explained, motioning towards the plethora of multi-colored flowers weaved into her shoulder length hair.

"An honorable title." Thorin commented, eyeing the beautiful flowers and, to her horror, beginning to feel exceedingly self conscious about the smooth blue crystals and rubies that grew from her arms, neck, the left side of her face; even if her arms were covered by her dress and her neck by her hair, Thorin still felt uncomfortable and gangly.

To her dismay, Bilbo seemed to pick up upon her inner turmoil and instinctually inched closer to Thorin, the loose grip on her ruby encrusted forearm tightened in assurance. "The blue mineral on the side of your face, what is it?"

"It is crystal." Thorin replied and for some reason, continued. "It used to be gold, thin and gorgeous, but after…after…" She trailed off, horrified at her stuttering and loss of self-composure. _After the Arkenstone Wars_, _my love for gold all but vanished_.

With unnerving perception, Bilbo nodded and looked into Thorin's eyes in all seriousness. "Yes, I remember those wars, Lady Thorin, and I am ashamed to admit that at that time, I was immensely glad that it was not I who was the target of Melkor's wrath, but you." She confessed quietly before narrowing her eyes at the other and scowling lightly. "You all but destroyed my fields in your rage," She reprimanded. "But I doubt that you remember that."

Cheeks reddening in shame and embarrassment, Thorin quickly bowed, messing up the fluid rhythm of their wandering. "If you many find it in your heart to forgive me—"

"Nonsense, Lady Thorin," And Thorin felt her heart plummet before the Hobbit continued. "It is all in the past. The lives and gardening thumbs saved from Tulkas's and your effort was worth more than my fields at the time, for the earth can be restored and revived but life cannot." Bilbo leveled her with a sincere gaze and Thorin's heart all but stopped.

She knew what the burning in her core meant; Thorin was of an innumerable age and not some dense dwarfling. However, she was completely non-versed in the ways of what Dís called _'love_' and never did she hope to meet her bond mate while she was still in existence. Truth be told, Frerin and Dís were the only ones who still harbored hope for her in the matters of the heart. Thraín had come to terms with his daughter's spinster status and since the rest of Thorin's family had been killed by Melkor, there could be no input from them.

But to find her bond mate in a tiny hobbit goddess whose hair shone like untarnished gold in the sunlight and eyes sparkled deep blue when she looked towards the sky; Thorin could confidently admit that she had not seen such a development coming. It was no wonder Yavanna had approached her so readily and excitedly, that her Father and Yavanna had been laughing in delight at her earlier.

Never would she have thought that her wandering and avoidance of socialization lead her to something bigger; not all who wander are lost, it seems.

"There are striking fields of green that appear sometimes outside of my stronghold," Thorin started, conversation coming easier than before. "Are they of your workings?"

Bilbo nodded abashedly. "They are one of my greatest works." She admitted shyly, a delectable blush painting her cheeks and ears prettily. "Your mountain, Erebor," Her cheeks reddened like rubies and Thorin felt her own fire up. "Looks so very lonely, so I thought I would bring it c-comfort when I could." She stammered, before darting her eyes to the horizon.

Thorin felt her throat constrict and her heart hammer against her breast. "I…thank you, Bilbo." She whispered and gently tugged the nature goddess closer. "For all my love of the rugged earth and skies, those flower filled fields have always brought me serenity in times of troubles, even if they are rare in appearance."

"Tis nothing, Thorin." Bilbo mumbled before her eyes widened in anxiety. "We are late, to the summit!" She exclaimed, pointing to the sun. "Oh dear! How improper of me!"

Thorin let out soft laughter, deep and great as thunder, for she could still hear Yavanna's own. "Perhaps that was the plan all along, Lady Baggins."

Bilbo's panicked expression turned pensive, until a pink hue colored her face. "Perhaps you are right." She said coyly. "The high gods work in mysterious ways, do they not?"

With a hum, Thorin bent down to retrieve her boots without releasing Bilbo and slid them on with practiced ease. "That they do," She replied, straightening herself out and throwing her hair back from out of her face. "To the summit?" She asked, turning her head to look at the goddess next to her.

"To the summit." Bilbo agreed, flowers popping up and blooming in her wake, a lovely contrast to the crystals and gems that grew as Thorin's train smoothed over the ground as the two walked on. "And maybe we can take another walk afterwards." She added, hope prevalent in her tone.

"We can take as many walks as you desire." Thorin responded quickly — perhaps, a little too quickly if you asked her.

With a large, crooked smile, Bilbo laughed. "It's a date." She proclaimed and Thorin gave a cheeky smile in return.

"Aye, it is."

And with that, the two goddesses took off; leaving the earth to sing in rejoice and two Vala smugly smiling at the other for their plan had emerged victorious.

"Now doesn't that make a sight?" Yavanna ventured, looking at her spouse from her place at the long table. She had witnessed the whole meeting and was quite pleased with herself and her husband.

With a grin, Mahal tapped the table. "I can do nothing but agree with you, dearest. It seems that our skills as a team have not rusted or lessened." He took a sip of ale from his tankard. "And it's about bloody time Thorin stopped brooding and lurking in that mountain all alone."

Yavanna hummed in agreement. "Don't let her hear you say that, my lord. Remember that she can set Frerin and Dís on you and let's not have a repeat of that, hmm?"

Mahal snorted. "While we may have our fights, my wife, I shall never forget that you are always right."

"Best see to it that you don't." The Earth Queen replied with a sharp look, to which her husband averted his eyes and focused on the pillar behind her.

"I would never," The god grumbled and at that Yavanna laughed warmly, for her husband's children seemed to fall not too far off from the tree.

XXX

"Your brother, Frerin, is such a rascal." Bilbo chuckled fondly from her side of the bed. "Playing such scandalous music to my flowers," Thorin herself snorted as she flipped a page of her reports. "Honestly, they are going to start to grow out of control if he keeps it up!"

"_Ghivashel_, you know he does it out of love." Thorin tried, her lips turning upwards in amusement. "It is a family's duty to tease and poke the other partner. Think of it as playful jesting."

"I think I've endured plenty of 'playful jesting', especially before the wedding." Bilbo shuddered. "As much as I love Fíli and Kíli, I don't think that patch of land outside of the Shire will ever be the same after they laid ruin to it."

Thorin laid a comforting hand on her wife's head and combed her unruly bangs back with a loving stroke. She tenderly held the mithril bead in her wife's hair and Bilbo breathed outwards in content. "Let us not forgot the torture I had to face with your own relatives." She reminded with a pinched expression. "Or how Yavanna was quite the bother with her meddling."

"Thorin, my love, _everyone _was meddling in our personal affairs at that time, especially Smaug." She paused and a soft smile grew on her hairless face. "We are quite loved, don't you think?"

"_You_ are quite loved," Thorin corrected as she shut her book and set it down along with the quill she had been writing with. "I, on the other hand, have a ways to go before I have anything other than respect and disgust associated with my name."

With a grumble, Bilbo sat up, placed a soft kiss on Thorin's crystal covered cheek, and tugged on her braided beard. "Do not talk that way about yourself, my dear goddess. It is quite demeaning and unwanted." She took Thorin's hand in her own and squeezed it. "Let us stop lazing about in bed. I think that breakfast is in order, don't you?"

Thorin gave a grunt in agreement and shuffled out of bed, as did her bond mate. The two dressed in their regular clothing, a dark blue tunic, trousers, and boots for Thorin and a soft blue, by Thorin's request, dress for Bilbo. It would be a long day in the sweltering heat of the forges for Thorin and a full day in the chilled dense dirt and dying green grass outside for Bilbo.

With purpose, the wives strode out of Thorin's chambers and to Erebor's kitchens. It was the season of winter and that meant that Bilbo would spend her time with Thorin in Erebor, tending to the vast expanses of land outside of the not so lonely mountain so that when spring arrived, the earth would be fit and healthy to begin blooming Bilbo's breathtaking flowers. It was a perfect arrangement and Thorin's mood brightened by an immeasurable amount when her wife was near. However, during the spring and summer she was mostly alone, but thankfully Bilbo still made time to take short, sometimes long, trips to Erebor when she was not busy making the fields and flowers flourish all throughout Arda.

"Smaug complained that there is not enough lavender wafting through Erebor." Thorin huffed to her bond mate as she scooped up an egg. "He says that you have all but ruined his preferred fragrances of soot and ash and now he is afraid of growing soft."

Bilbo laughed aloud and Thorin closed her eyes, the sound washing over her like a relaxing wave of mirth. "Oh, that silly dragon." Bilbo sighed, poking at her scone. "Sometimes it is hard to believe that he is older than I."

"I agree. He still believes that he is my elder even though we were born at the exact same time." Thorin scoffed and Bilbo looked at her curiously. "He is my familiar, my spirit animal, so when I was born, so was he, and when I fade, so will he." Thorin explained and Bilbo in turn nodded in understanding.

"Smaug is a rascal as well, but what a steadfast companion and honorable familiar he is." Bilbo shook her head affectionately.

When their plates were polished, Thorin picked up the dishes and placed them in the sink. Woefully, she eyed the pile and begrudgingly wished that magically cleaning dishes were apart of the goddess package. It was most definitely not as even gods and goddesses have to clean and invest in straightening up their realms and strongholds.

Glaring at the offensive dishes once more, Thorin turned to join Bilbo at the doorway and reflexively linked arms with her wife as they made their way to the gates. Thorin led the way even though Bilbo had already mapped out and memorized every twist and turn in Erebor. She set their pace at leisure for there was no hurry to start the day as the sun had not even begun to rise yet and Thorin intended to take advantage of that.

The two goddesses had been married for several hundred years and all, especially Thorin's siblings and the Earth Queen, welcomed the strange union. A goddess of the fields and flowers bonded to a goddess of war, thunder, and the mountains was nothing new to the Valar for the same attraction lied within Mahal and Yavanna. Dís had crowed, "_Opposites attract and balance out each other's follies, my beloved sister._" and Thorin could do nothing but wholeheartedly agree. To add to her surprise, Smaug had instantly taken a liking to Bilbo, and his acceptance warmed Thorin's heart greatly, as did Erebor's. The mountain had all but purred when Bilbo stepped foot inside of her; the stones vibrated happily and glowed enchantingly with life. It was a symbol of a long, prosperous marriage, never to falter or fail.

"Stop smiling at me all sappily, Thorin." Bilbo whined with dignity, her ears aflame and Thorin quickly reigned in herself. She had not been aware of her actions and even though Bilbo had seen her at her worst, she was still embarrassed.

"I did not realize…" She trailed off, her crystallized skin glowing along with her cheeks.

With a giggle, Bilbo smiled widely. "I know," And she squeezed Thorin's hand once before setting her gaze to the enormous southern entrance gate of Erebor.

It had become routine, their walks through Erebor with Thorin leading and their walks through the fields and meadows with Bilbo bouncing, tugging Thorin along with glee; Thorin enjoyed both immensely. What she did not enjoy was releasing her bond mate's hand, or saying goodbye. With a tight hug that Thorin reciprocated, Bilbo began to head out to nurture the earth.

"Be careful and I shall see you when the day is over!" Bilbo called out and Thorin waved to her wife as she turned into a sweet, chilled winter's breeze, blowing out the gate and into the outside world.

Thorin waited a few moments before she too headed to fire and light the core of Arda with the knowledge that her wife would return, dirt wiped along her cheeks and feet curled from trying to keep warm. She approached Smaug to awaken the drake as work needed to get done and his fire was sorely needed.

"_Azugel_, get up." She said roughly, smacking his nose and the dragon slowly stretched, his mind becoming un-muddled and limbs cracking.

"I am not a rascal." He deadpanned as his wings fanning out only to fold back up next to his body. "And you are a child."

Thorin let out a bark of laughter and smacked Smaug again. "Eavesdropping is not proper," She scolded. "What would Bilbo say if she found out?"

Smaug groaned and the two shuffled towards the forges, Thorin's crystals forming a path in her wake and Smaug's tail swishing and slicing the air as he waddled along. "I would never hear the end of it." He muttered and brought hearty laughter tumbling out Thorin.

Outside, the fields glowed radiantly and Erebor shook in splendor. The men of the physical realm that inhabited the lands that the bonded goddesses protected and guarded whispered to themselves about the grand harvest to come and the dwarves, Durin's folk, cheered about the magnificent jewels and warmth that their revered mountain always seemed to produce and exude.

The term lonely soon fell out of use to describe the mountain, for no longer did the single, not so solitary peak appear flinty and distant. Erebor carried an incandescent luster, as if it had been burnished and the fields turned resplendent, the flowers robust and plentiful. The people prayed to the mountain goddess and her wife with vigor and joy, and in turn were blessed with a golden age that lasted until the rebuilding of the world.

Warm air, heating and comforting the unconcealed skin; Thorin loved it. It was soothing against her cool skin that much was true, but nothing compared to the burning touch from her beloved. Nothing compared to such a touch and neither did feeling, finally, at home. Home being a single peak and a courageous and oh so clever nature goddess in the form of a Hobbit — all of which was surrounded by dutiful and populous worshippers, fields of shimmering flowers, and luscious soil ripe for harvesting.

Erebor and Bilbo.

_**A/N:**_

**Khuzdul Translations:**

Muzmel: (the) beast of (all) beastsbr /  
>Azugel: (the) drake of (all) drakesbr   
>daruthînh: (the) gloom - ladiesbr   
>Mizimel: (the) jewel of (all) jewelsbr   
>Melekûnh: (the) Hobbitsbr   
>Ghivashel: (the) treasure of (all) treasures (like we don't all know that lol)<p>

**The Valar:**

Manwë: He is the King of the Valar. The winds and airs were his servants, and he was lord of air, wind, and clouds in Arda

Ulmo: Lord of Waters and in power he was second to Manwë.

Aulë: Husband of Yavanna, Aulë is given lordship over the matter that composes Arda and is a master of all the crafts that shape it. He created the seven fathers of the Dwarves, who call him Mahal, the Maker

Yavanna: Queen of the Earth and Giver of Fruits, spouse of Aulë.

Melkor: The First Dark Lord, creator of Sauron.

Lórien: The Lord of Dreams.

Nienna: Lady of Mercy. She was the tutor of Olórin (Gandalf), and weeps constantly.

**Gem Significance (yes, i went that far omg):**

Ruby: The ruby is a symbol of vitality and royalty.

Sapphire: Long associated with peace and happiness, and believed to help with communication, insight, intuition, inspiration and prayer.

Onyx: It is a gem thought to enhance determination and perseverance.

Tourmaline: Tourmaline is said to strengthen both body and spirit.

Garnets: Regarded as the stone of passionate devotion; toward family, friends, the self, and purpose in life.


End file.
